


Two Sides of a Slammed Door

by EllieL



Category: A Discovery of Witches (TV), All Souls Trilogy - Deborah Harkness
Genre: Angst, F/M, Inner Dialogue, Late at Night, Points of View, Relationship(s), S2E05, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:41:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29303637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieL/pseuds/EllieL
Summary: After Diana uses her magic to slam the door on Matthew, they both have their first night at Sept Tours to do some thinking.
Relationships: Diana Bishop/Matthew Clairmont
Comments: 10
Kudos: 53





	Two Sides of a Slammed Door

Magic was still thrumming through her veins, combining with adrenaline and anger in a way that left her feeling she could rip down the whole of Sept Tours with her bare hands. Or with her magic. As she remembered her yoga and took deep, calming breaths, though, she felt it ebb out of her until she was wavering in her feet, even as she still stared at the heavy oak door.

She knew Matthew was on the other side, but she also knew that he would not dare open it. So she forced herself to glare at the door, concentrating on all her frustration with him, until she heard him move away. Only then did she let herself take in the room she’d been led to.

It was generous, with a well made bed and windows that would allow in bright morning light. A fire crackled in the grate and there was a chair and tray of food next to it—bread, cheese, and fruit. She sank into the chair and nibbled on an apple as she turned over her relationship with Matthew in her mind.

He was a vampire—she had not expected a relationship with him to be like one with a literature professor; she knew there would be secrets, knew there were things he couldn’t speak about. But she had expected those things to be about his role in historic events or his family business, not about the very nature of his relationship with her. She was not versed enough in vampiric etiquette to know the technicalities of what constituted mating, and Ysabeau had certainly treated them as if they were. 

But he had lied to her, had held himself back from fully consummating their relationship because he knew that it meant something, something that he was unwilling to explain to her. As ridiculously patriarchal as the idea of penetrative sex being a requirement, as much as she wanted to rail against the very idea that what they’d done wasn’t sex, this was not the moment for that discussion. It was what it was, and he’d known where the line was, and refused to cross it, without explaining anything about it to her.

She was furious with him. And with herself, for not forcing the question of  _ why _ he’d refused to do so. Early on, in those first few heady days when they’d been at her aunt’s, it had been easy enough to write off to  _ taking it slow.  _ And really, who was she to argue with him going down on her in an incredibly satisfying way, which to her mind very much was having sex. And things had been a little off for both of them since they’d arrived in 1590, so there had been little opportunity to be intimate as they both struggled to find their places. 

She sighed and threw the apple core into the fire, then looked back to the door. For all that, though, she did not doubt that he loved her—no one would go through what he was putting himself through if he didn’t. But she wondered now what his concept of love meant. To find out would require taking in a way she knew he was not ready for. And she was certainly too exhausted and too emotional to have that discussion tonight.

Groaning, she rose from the chair and shuffled over to the bed, shedding dirty, work layers of clothing as she went. Perhaps tomorrow she could get hot water to clean herself up. Now, all she wanted was a good night’s sleep. Aunt Em always said things were clearer in the new morning light; she would wake tomorrow and assess her situation anew, and make it clear to Matthew that what they needed was not penetrative sex but a discussion. 

She had a feeling such a discussion would be more difficult for him than the sex. Certainly he was better at sex than at talking, which hadn’t seemed a terrible disadvantage, but she should have known better. Curling under the bedcovers in just her shift, she tumbled over the idea of love and second chances for a long time before falling asleep as the foreign sounds of Sept Tours reverberated around her. None of it put her at ease, and she spent hours staying up at the dark ceiling before sleep found her.

*

He growled at the door, knowing he’d been fully in the wrong but utterly unable to stop himself. It took longer than it should have for him to compose himself enough to storm back down to Philippe’s office. 

His father looked up, unwilling to address him in any way that was not out an alleged sense of fatherly concern. That wasn’t all it was, not by a long shot, and it grated on him. More, too, when Philippe had to focus right in on the most sensitive area, but from exactly the wrong angle. Not just a schism between them, but a fatal and final rupture. 

Matthew stormed back out of the office in a fury, at knowing how right his father was, and how wrong. At how wrong he’d been in so many ways. And he knew, worst of all, that he was  _ hungry, _ and he always made poor choices when he hadn’t fed. Philippe had been right about that, too. 

He marched through the hall, out onto the ramparts. He marched away from everyone, everyone who tried to stop him, tried to calm him, tried to talk with him.

There was no one to blame for any of this but himself. It was in his blood, this rashness, this rage. The night air took the edge off, if only for a moment. He heaved several great breaths, trying to cool himself further, to be able to think clearly. He needed to think clearly if they were to get through this.

For a moment he doubted, wondering whether they could get through this, with the Congregation and Philippe bath against them. It seemed insurmountable, even before the task they’d set themselves of finding The Book of Life. Would Phillipe know of that, too? Could he help them? Did they want his help? He’d wanted to avoid Philippe at all costs, and not just because of how his life had ended, and how that haunted him.

But he could not leave off worrying that like a rotten tooth. Or worrying what would happen between Diana and his father, because it was clear that she was going to disregard his advice about Philippe, and centuries of experience had taught him that rarely went well. Yet Diana seemed to be the mistress of impossible things.

One to whom he ought to have explained fully what they were getting into. Instead, he’d made the mistake of coddling and cosseting her, without asking her thoughts on how to approach what they were getting into. If she’d known, she’d have had ideas; she was a woman full of ideas, which was one of the many things he loved about her.

Tomorrow, he thought, looking up at the cold night sky. Tomorrow morning he would feed, and then he would find Diana and talk with her, and explain himself. She needed to understand, and then she would have ideas, and they would figure this out together.


End file.
